Coming of Age
by Nickiblitz
Summary: Draco grows up. How? See for your self... This could be a one shot or a WIP. So take your pick, guys.. Quite a few ships coming up, if its WIP. REVIEW!
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER – None belong to me, just fooling around with J.K's characters!

AUTHOR'S NOTE – Just a little something I thought up, but I have a lot more ideas for it, it's up to you if you want more, or think I should just stop here. Remember, reviews make me type faster! =) Dedicated to Aida and Jas, my two best buddies! Maybe we'll see some of Jas' stuff soon… and Aida's fics are, like, really, really good, go and read them! Her pen name is Calex, gp check it out!

RATING –  PG 13/R. (Just to be safe) Lots of blood, I guess… does that make this an R?

THE COMING OF AGE

Draco sat at a desk, aimlessly killing moths alone in the dark. The room was gloomy and the very air he breathed in oppressive, the only illumination was that of the wall sconces and a poor light that was; but even the moon hid, shrouded by heavy clouds that veiled its silvery light. The room he was in was huge, but dusty from being unused for the past few years. More like past few centuries, Draco groused silently as he sneezed yet again for what seemed to be the zillionth time. Leaning back in a large, cumbersome-looking thing he supposed was a chair, he surveyed the room through narrowed eyes. Heavy, moth-eaten draperies; a once-plush carpet, now something he wouldn't even call a rag; heavy, antique looking furniture; paintings with colours that were dulled by layers of grime and dust. Very not in the running for the grand prize, he thought sardonically, unless of course, the competition was for the 'Most Rundown Mansion of The Year'. Then it would win hands down. He sneezed again, violently.

What was he _doing_ here?

Sure, his father told him to wait here while he attended some 'most pressing matters', but what was _he_ doing here? He hardly ever followed his father when doing important things. So what was he doing here? Unless……

No.

No! 

Dammit!!

Had his father brought him in here to get the Mark? But… he didn't want it! How does one tell Voldemort 'no'? It was impossible, unless he had a death wish.

He sat down heavily on an overstuffed chair, raising a cloud of dust, which he waved away impatiently. Dropping his head into his hands, he pondered his options. One, he could attempt to talk his father out of it. Which probably won't work, his father had dreamed of this since the day he was born. 

Two, he could try to convince Voldemort that he didn't need the Mark, which would result in a near-certain death sentence, either for him or his father, or the both of them. Which wouldn't be good, would it? 

No, not really. 

Three, he could try to run for his life which would be a lot worse than dying, in the long run. His father would hunt him down, and fully murder him, or Voldemort could kill his father for raising such an irresponsible child and heir. Either way, there would be a lot of killing. And blood. Draco shuddered. He never told anybody, but he couldn't stand the sight of blood, it made him squeamish. Or maybe no blood, after all, a simple 'Avada Kedavra' could just solve the problem. 

Fourth, he could kill himself right now, and leave a goodbye note. Immediately, he rejected the idea. It would be stupid to commit suicide and then realize there was no plan to give him the Mark, anyway. He could just see it now:-

"Draco? Draco? *pause* Oh Merlin! Help!! He's dead! Wait, he wrote a note. *rustle of paper* What??? What Mark? Draco, you stupid, stupid boy! I just came here to talk to MacNair! There were no plans to get you to take the Mark!

~*~*~*~

Draco rolled his eyes at the scenes running through his agile imagination. He _really _should get down to thinking up an escape route. Besides, it was cowardly to even contemplate taking the easy way out. His fingers danced a lively jig on his knee as he thought, discarded idea, thought, and discarded the ideas yet again. After ten minutes, he gave up and sat back in his chair, waiting for something to happen. 

~*~*~*~

His chin was touching his chest in slumber when the heavy oak door creaked open. Jerking up, he squinted at the bright light pouring in before going, "Father?"

Lucius beckoned to him imperiously, his rings glinting in the bright light and turned on his heel before stalking out. Draco ran his fingers through his hair, noting with distaste that his fingers were blackened by dust. Nevertheless, he dutifully ran after his father and fell in step. 

After a few minutes of tense silence, he turned to his father, almost timidly.

"Father?" 

Lucius grunted in response.

"Um… where are we going?"

Lucius slanted a sharp gaze towards his blonde son, his only heir.

"To do you a favour you'll be thanking me for when you understand better."

Draco's heart fell when he heard that, all his meager hopes hitting the cold stone floor with a thud. It suddenly felt like he had fallen a long, long, way, and his stomach had yet to catch up with the rest of him.

"Am I getting my Mark, then?"

"Yes."

And with that, Draco died. Not literally, of course, but inside. He never wanted to be like his father, he was just waiting to move out the minute he turned eighteen, wanted to get the hell out from under his father's thumb. He sighed. 

~*~*~*~

They entered a large hall, and Draco looked around him with no small amount of awe. It was _huge_. Huge with a capital H. The floor was of polished, gleaming black marble and so were the pillars. There was a large, ornately carved throne made of ivory at the end of the hall, with a plush blood-red carpet leading up to it. And matching heavy silk draperies adorned the floor-to-ceiling windows. Who said bad guys couldn't have good taste? On either side of the carpet were Death Eaters, all of them kneeling, chanting some ancient verses or something. Draco's father tried to make him learn, but he just couldn't seem to get them in his head, so his father gave up after a while. Now he totally wished he had paid attention, it all seemed so… intriguing. And then the Dark Lord spoke.

"Lucius… is this the boy?" Draco was startled; he had been so engrossed in his surroundings he had totally forgotten why he was here.

"Yes, Master… this is my son, Draco," Lucius returned silkily, his hand coming up behind Draco to push him forward. Draco hesitated for a split second before he was dragged down onto his knees before the hideous visage of the feared Dark lord, Voldemort.

Ok, not hideous. He actually looked…… normal. If you counted having bright red eyes normal, then yeah, he looked normal. Surprisingly. Pretty good looking too, chiseled features… nice hair… mmm…

Idiot! Draco scolded himself. The Dark Lord is an expert in Occlumency!! He looked up fearfully, expecting to be waltzing through the gates of Hell in about five seconds.

"So, I'm good looking?"

Shit!!!

"Don't swear, my boy. Most unsavoury, especially from a young man of your social standing."

Oh Merlin, he's going to kill me! Or Father will. 

Shouldn't I stop talking in my head now?

The sound of laughter, albeit rusty from misuse but still, laughter, rang out through the hall. Draco cringed in embarrassment and a considerable amount of fear, his pale skin turning bright pink as he considered tunneling through the floor in a bid to escape this all-encompassing humiliation. This was worse than being turned into a ferret! At least that was in school, in front of stupid schoolmates. This was in front of the Dark Lord, surrounded by fully-grown Death Eaters. 

Could someone just kill him now? Please?

~*~*~*~

Nobody killed him.

And that was why he found himself dressed in heavy ceremonial robes, his pale arm stretched out in front of Voldemort, his heart beating a rapid tattoo within his chest. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to start, willing the fear that pounded dully in his head to go away. For after this, fear would have no place in his life.

He was seething with fear, anger, reluctance, resentment, and sadness. This was the moment of decision; there was no turning back. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Forever. He tried to get rid of the lump forming in his throat to no avail as he felt the cold tip of a wand trace a pattern on the bare skin of his forearm gently, even lovingly. Then, a whispered "Morsmodre" and the light pattern on his skin cut deep into his flesh, inscribing it into the core of his very soul. He could feel it, the darkness, the inky blackness seeping into his soul, him, every fiber of his being was being marked as the property of the Dark Lord, and he quivered with the emotional overload of it all. He screamed aloud as he felt the dark power coursing through his veins, fundamentally changing the very basis of his character, traveling from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair.

In that space of that four to five seconds, Draco _grew up_. Changed forever, never to be the boy he had once been, now a man. He had come of age, so to speak.

He knelt at the feet of his Lord, kissed the hem of his black robes reverently. 

"My Lord." 

Such worship, it resonated in the timbre of his voice, echoed in the now-silent hall. Incense burning at the ceremonial alter sent thin fumes of fragrance throughout the room, lending an otherworldly air to the place as hundreds of eyes focused on the scene of a boy, now a boy no longer, a _man_, as he knelt at the feet of his Master.

~*~*~*~

Draco stood up gracefully, realizing he had gone through some very extensive physical changes. Chancing a glance at the Dark Lord, he smiled uncertainly, wondering exactly what the _bleeding hell_ was going on. Nobody told him about physical changes. Come to think of it, no one told him about the pain, either. No one told him anything! He was sooo unprepared for this!

Then the Dark lord spoke.

"Draco, before you are to be initiated, you have just one more thing to do," he gestured towards a Muggle girl. She was bound tightly, and gagged. "Kill her."

"_What_?"

"Do you question me?"

"No."

Levitating her, he brought her body over to where he was, smiling at her ferally. Instinct took over, and all uncertainty fled as he undressed her slowly, baring her fresh young body to all present as she struggled weakly, her blue eyes filing with tears of humiliation and fear, the tears running down her cheeks to dampen her gag. 

"Shhhh…" he whispered, his voice caressing her senses like velvet, soothing her. "This will only hurt a little, my sweet."

Drawing a silver dagger, its honed edge flashing in the flickering light of the torches, he traced a line down her skin, beginning from the hollow between her collarbones, down the valley between her breasts, to end above her pubic hair. He stepped back, watching with satisfaction the blood welling up, her life essence. It was beautiful, the contrast of blood and ivory skin. He couldn't help himself, he leaned down and traced the line of blood with his tongue, taking pleasure in the coppery taste of it. 

Beautiful.  

Exquisite. 

Moaning in pleasure, his heartbeat quickened as he made another line down the side of her neck, applying more pressure this time and quickly lapping up the blood that soon appeared, he felt like he was in seventh heaven. 

More. 

He wanted more.

Suddenly, he became aware of his surroundings, that the  girl was screaming through the gag. Looking at her, her eyes spoke of betrayal. 

But what did _I _do?

Oh yeah.

"I'm sorry, sweet..." he murmured, lifting his dagger above his head. "Now it won't hurt any more. I promise." The dagger buried itself in her stomach and she bucked wildly, her eyes full of pain.  The blood lust growing in Draco reached its crescendo when he saw the blood pooling in the concave hollow of her stomach, and he took her in his arms, slurping hungrily as her movements slowly became sluggish and weak. When her head fell back, her azure eyes glazed in death, he looked up slowly, his face smeared with blood. Licking his lips, he looked towards his Master.

"More, please?" 

A/N: No, I have not forgotten that Draco does not like blood. This is just to illustrate how much he has changed, and you guys have the veto power to decide if this should stop here and be a gruesome one-shot, or a WIP (work in progress). Just to be clear, I don't usually write gore like this, so I would really appreciate it if you guys reviewed and told me your opinions on the story, and whether there is room for improvement!

Oh, yeah. He changes physically too… If you guys wanna know what he looks like, review and ask for WIP! hehe… =D

Cheers!

Nicki


	2. Out Into the Big, Bad World, How Bad Can...

DISCLAIMER – Not mine, never will be. Just borrowing them to mess around... all innocent fun, don't sue me!!!  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE – This chapter has been a long time in coming, I apologise!!!!  
  
RATING – R to be safe, in all probability a PG-13...  
  
OUT INTO THE BIG, BAD WORLD. . . HOW BAD CAN IT BE? Harry paced his dormitory room in quick angry strides, occasionally running a hand through his unruly, inky-black locks. His mind was racing furiously, trying to digest all the emotions that were running amok inside his head. He didn't want to be the Boy-Who-Lived anymore -- couldn't handle the fame, couldn't live up to the expectations that were heaped onto his head by the wizarding world for much longer. His inner voice was sceaming and kicking, demanding to be let out to speak -- to make itself known to the world, to the people who thought they knew him so well, thought they could tell him what was good for him.  
  
It was about time he made himself known. The true Harry Potter.  
  
A thin smile crossed his face and his unnaturally green eyes glittered at the prospect of all the hullabaloo that would proceed his little 'retirement' speech. Maybe Hermione would drop to the ground in a deep faint? Ron turning a vibrant purple in anger? Dumbledore turning ashen in fear, knowing that the side of the light was doomed to failure? The wizarding world in an uproar? He couldn't wait. He just wanted out, to be able to walk the streets without passers-by staring at his scar, to be able to make it through a school year without playing catch-me-if-you-can with the Grim Reaper himself.  
  
He straightened his school robes, adjusting his glasses as he strode towards the beautifully carved door that led to the landing outside his dormitory. Barely noticing the heads turning to stare at him as he swept past them, he made his way to the Great Hall swiftly, his pale face looking as though it was carved in stone, set and hard. Oh, yes. Time to let the Slytherin in him come out and play.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The doors to the Great Hall flew open, a strong gust of wind sweeping in as students and professors alike stared at the diminutive figure standing at the doorway, his green eyes flashing a strange fire. An aura of power seemed to cloak his very being, his slight stature commanded respect. Hermione frowned as she sipped at her goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry looked -- different, somehow. Oh, sure, he was still short, thin and messy-haired, but he seemed...... evil? No, not evil, she chided herself. Harry? Evil? Someone must have slipped a befuddlement potion into her juice. She chewed her lip thoughtfully, trying to figure out exactly what was so different about Harry.  
  
Then he spoke, his voice ringing clear and strong.  
  
"I have decided to leave the Wizarding world for awhile. . . to clear my head. I think I need some time. . . to mourn and come to terms with my loss. Voldemort has been a part of my life for to long, I reset sharing it with him. I wish," and here he looked directly into Dumbledore's faded blue eyes, "you all the best. May the best side win."  
  
He stepped back, his eyes sweeping the hall, trying to imprint the image of his first ever real home in his mind.  
  
A silence, a pause as the occupants in the Hall tried to process what he just said.  
  
Uproar.  
  
Now Hermione knew what was different about Harry.  
  
Teachers were on their feet, pleading with Dumbledore to do something, anything, to stop Harry, their light, their saviour, from deserting them at their hour of need. Shouts of "Albus! Stop this madness!" and "Harry!!!! Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" interspersed with "We need you Harry! Don't leave us!" filled the room, the usual buzz of conversation now a cacophony of vocal panic.  
  
Slytherins stared at Harry, their expressions running the whole gamut from confusion, horror, shock, triumph, and in one case, utter boredom. That would be Draco Malfoy. He calmly picked up another piece of toast, buttered it, and took a bite, for all the world looking as though it was just another day at Hogwarts and people running around screaming at Harry were everyday occurrences.  
  
Harry noticed this. How could Draco stay so calm? Then a realization dawned upon him. Ever since the new term started, they had not fought even once. What had happened to the Draco he thought he knew?  
  
Draco got up, languidly brushing crumbs off his robes before sauntering out of the hall gracefully. Harry stared at his retreating back. At the last minute, Draco turned around. Cool silver eyes met blazing emerald green for a moment, and a smirk twisted the blonde's lips as he dipped his head a little in acknowledgement.  
  
The door closed.  
  
Harry was left thinking, pondering what that encounter meant.  
  
And a very irrelevant thought entered his mind.  
  
Draco was fucking hot.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Once again, Harry was alone in his dormitory. This time, though, he was not pacing alone, his emotions awhirl inside him; he was packing all his belongings, getting ready to face the world. This time all by himself, somewhere nobody recognized him. And for some reason, Malfoy's face kept on invading his thoughts. That feline grace when he walked, his platinum blonde hair just grazing his shoulder blades, his beautiful silver eyes.  
  
Wait.  
  
Harry could not believe he was thinking Draco Malfoy attractive. Malfoy?  
  
And another thing.  
  
He wasn't a fag!!  
  
Right?  
  
Harry found he could not answer that question.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Two hours later, he walked through his common room for the last time; all his personal belongings shrunk and kept in his robe pocket. He had half expected booing and to most probably be hexed as he made his departure, but to his surprise (and relief), he was merely greeted with stony faces and averted eyes. The entire room hushed as he put his hand on the handle of the portrait and he turned around, wanting to have just one last glimpse of the cozy room that had seen so many of his little triumphs and defeats, the times when he celebrated Gryffindor's Quidditch victories, the time when he returned humiliated after asking Cho out, all the little mundane aspects of his life. These walls had seen enough of him and his life to know that in spite of the stupid scar on his forehead, instead of all the circumstances in his life, he was still a normal teenage boy, with hopes and dreams, and crushes, and a life.  
  
Too bad the rest of them didn't know that.  
  
Suddenly a hostile voice broke into his thoughts. "What are you doing still standing there? Get out of our common room, you don't want to be here, well, we don't want you here either anyway!"  
  
Harry turned slowly and looked into the bright blue eyes of his best friend, the first friend he ever had, not counting Hedwig. Ron's eyes were dark and full of anger and betrayal.  
  
"Well? What are you waiting for? Get out!"  
  
Harry gave his red-haired friend a crooked smile, turning back to the portrait hole but was held back by a strong hand.  
  
"Hold on, mate. Just want to give you a goodbye gift." Ron spun him around, and hit him with a really painful left hook right to the jaw. Harry crumpled against the door, tears stinging his eyes as he worked his jaw gingerly.  
  
"That was for letting all of us down, you bloody bastard."  
  
Ron stalked away, never looking back at Harry.  
  
Harry staggered out of the common room, adjusting his glasses as he did so. He noted, with some regret, that even the Fat Lady refused to look at him, pointedly turning her back to him.  
  
He strode through the corridors, meeting with whispering students at almost every turn. Some insulted him right to his face, a few attempted to hex him, and he dodged their pathetic tries with ridiculous ease, but most whispered. And the whispers were really, really starting to get on his nerves.  
  
Barely hanging onto his temper by the skin of his teeth, Harry Potter walked out Hogwarts with his robe pockets full of belongings, his Firebolt floating in midair beside him, sporting an impressive purple bruise on his right jaw.  
  
In his opinion, his life was about to start right about now.  
  
Right after he figured out where he wanted to go. 


	3. Ginny's past Not as squeaky clean as we...

DISCLAIMER – None belong to me. Sue me not.

A/N – Sorry this has been a long time in coming!

RATING – Hard R.

Sometimes she sat, hands folded in her lap, looking out of the window that let the sunlight into the tiny cubbyhole that was her bedroom. Like today. The golden summer sunlight streamed in, a slight breeze making her pale green, filmy curtains flutter slightly and the proud golden heads of her mother's beloved marigolds bow their heads in homage. The entire scene was peaceful, making Ginny almost think all was right with the world, that nothing bad lay out there beyond the serene scene laid out before her.

Almost.

But not quite.

Suddenly the sound of masculine laughter filled the air, effectively breaking the peaceful sound of droning bees, startling Ginny out of her quiet contemplation. Tucking an errant lock of burnished copper-bright hair behind her ear, she leaned forward, her fingertips resting lightly on the smooth white windowsill. She looked down and saw the identical freckly faces of her elder twin brothers, their carroty hair two glaring red blobs against the smooth green expanse that was the lawn. They were sitting close together, heads almost touching, gesticulating wildly while speaking in hushed voices. Occasionally one of them would break out into raucous laughter and Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation, affection and exasperation mingling within her.

Immediately, she began to panic, huge dark waves looming over her, threatening to capsize her, to drown her. Gasping for air, she plunged her hand into her pocket, searching for peace of heart and mind, for relief. The moment her slender fingers made contact with the slender, cool, object and held on to it tightly, the overwhelming emotions faded away, leaving in its place a cold, calm clarity. She stayed that way, for how long she could not tell, for time blended into a blur as she just sat there reveling in the blank white place, a place where emotions were held at bay, where everything was crisp, clear, sharp-edged, uncomplicated. Her fingers swept over the object she held reverently in her hands, over and over again, tracing the contours she knew so well, every curve, the polished surface like glass. She remained in her inner haven for minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, maybe years, for all she could tell. In there, time was irrelevant.

But when she opened her eyes again, the golden sunshine was replaced by the pink-orange of the setting sun. The loud tinkling of a bell announced dinner, and she rose in a hurry, her stomach making its presence known. In her haste, she dropped the object she was holding.

The slanting rays of the setting sun alighted on a beautiful knife left lying on her recently vacated chair. An exquisitely carved serpent was coiled around the handle, looking almost alive, the finely honed edge of a silver blade gleaming wickedly in the dying light of the sun.

No Weasley should have ever come into possession of such an expensive object. No ordinary Weasley, that is.

Ginny sat at the dinner table, its gingham tablecloth spotted and stained from years of constant use, overfull platters of food making the old oak table groan and creak in protest. Around her, conversations swirled loudly, arguments over Quidditch teams, complaints being filed against other siblings, pleas for silence, loud chewing, the occasional burp. Ginny pushed her food around her plate listlessly, dreaming of fine wine, intelligent conversation, muted laughter and maybe… a victim she could drain.

Blood.

Just the thought of it made her head spin and her mouth water. Merlin, how she craved for it, metallic tang of the life-giving liquid. Almost instinctively, she reached for the knife, the one thing she carried with her everywhere she went.

Time stopped. Her brothers stopped in mid-sentence, Fred with his mouth full of food, her mother with a spoon in mid-air, a drop of soup frozen on the way to the surface of the table. Her knife was missing. Unholy panic consumed her, wrapped a fist around her heart and squeezed. Her lifeline, the one thing that connected her to her Master, her love, her everything. It was gone? Preposterous.

Ohmerlinohmerlinohmerlin.

Fucking fuck a bug on a rug.

If she had the emotional capacity to cry, she would have shed a bucket of tears by now.

She stood up abruptly, the scene in front of her seemed grossly distorted, a carnival mirror image of the actual scene. Concerned faces wavered before her glazed eyes, made her nauseous. She attempted an 'everything-is-fine' smile and wave, but she had a sinking suspicion that nobody was fooled judging from the way everybody was staring at her.

She didn't know she was shaking from head to foot and pale as a ghost to boot.

They didn't know they looked like walking bags of blood to her heightened instincts right now, and it was taking all her will power to _not_ drain the whole lot of them dry.

They watched in stunned silence as she spun around on her heel and fled up the rickety staircase, her footsteps echoing down before the loud slam of her door roused them back to some semblance of normality. But under the raucous conversation, the loud slurps and occasional scuffle, there lay a question. 'What has happened to our Ginny?'

Weak silver moonlight illuminated Ginny's fiery hair as she slammed the door shut behind her, leaning wearily against it. Opening her eyes a crack, she spotted the object she was looking for, gleaming pearlescent in a pool of light on the floor. Her knife. Emotion still threatening to capsize her, she scooped it off her worn timber floor, blowing imaginary dust off the serpent that coiled lovingly around the handle. She smiled at it, running a finger over its exposed fangs, remembering why exactly it was given to her.

Memories rushed in, filling up the gap left by her emotions.

_The steady, pinging drip of water echoed hollowly in the empty stone chamber that was the Chamber of Secrets and the heavy smell of sex and blood intermingled with the smell of stagnant water and general misuse. Ginny stirred weakly, feeling the warm arms that held her safe and secure tighten slightly, bringing her closer to the wall of chest that took up most of her peripheral vision. _

_"Virginia." _

_Oh that voice, Ginny thought fuzzily. Deep, resonating, sexy._

_"Mmmmm?"_

_The voice of a satisfied woman._

_"This is for you."_

_She pried her eyelids open further, enough to see what was dangling before her. _

_Enraptured, she raised a hand and snagged the prize, examining it further. Slitting a small cut into her fingertip, she raised her hand, offering up to her lover, crimson blood starting to well up and run down her slender finger. Lowering his hea_d, _he took her finger into his mouth, suckling on it slowly, all the time holding her gaze with his smouldering eyes. She smiled at him sweetly, her innocent little-girl smile in direct contrast to the blood – his blood – running down her chin, and her finger leaking life fluids –blood – into his mouth. _

_"Why a serpent, My Lord?" she queried._

_He smiled at her tolerantly, a drop of blood still quivering on his bottom lip, and before she could help herself, Ginny leaned forward; licking it off, savouring the taste of his blood. Dark, rich, the darkness in his soul tainting his blood with the slightest bitter tang. Ginny knew her blood most likely tasted that way now, after all the rites they went through, the both of them, to restore Voldemort to his original beauty._

_It was all worth it._

_His perfect lips curved upwards in a grin as he moved closer, his breath now ghosting over her ear. _

_"Are you familiar with the story of Adam and Eve, Virginia?"_

She nodded, brow creased slightly as she tried to link what the old bible story had to do with her beautiful dagger.

_"The serpent?" she queried tentatively._

_He smiled at her, a proud tutor._

_"Excellent. I am the serpent, Virginia, you are the woman, and the world is your man. I teach, you corrupt, the world falls."_

_Her eyes sparkled with glee as she registered what he said and a rush of wild exhilaration filled her from her toes all the way to her roots of her hair like bubbly champagne. Impulsively, she planted a smacking kiss onto the corner of his mouth. She missed her mark, but she didn't care as colourful visions paraded before her dazzled eyes. World domination, millions of subjects, worldwide fame. No longer dowdy little Ginny Weasley hiding behind her older brothers, she would be powerful, beautiful, rich. Everything she as a pureblooded witch deserved to have, but didn't possess._

_Grinning sunnily at him, and her eyes widened momentarily as he pounced upon her, his lips seeking hers as a thirsty man seeks water, pressing her harder against the rough-hewn stone floor. As she parted her lips to grant him access, she felt a surge of dark power surging through her body, her soul, coursing through her veins, awakening a fresh thirst for blood and she indulged in it, lapping at the blood dribbling down the side of his neck, the fresh wound there not healed yet. _

_And they lay there in each other's arms, warm and sated, listening to the sound of their heartbeats thrumming together as one. Above them, Hogwarts stirred to life, starting another day. Ginny rose slowly, regretfully. _

_"I have to go now," she smiled softly at him; he was still lying on the cold stone floor, the very picture of a debauched fallen angel._

_"Next solstice." He grinned at her crookedly, an errant lock of rich dark hair falling into his eyes._

_"That's my birthday!" A smile of pure pleasure lighting up her features. He raised an eyebrow._

_"Autumn solstice?"_

_"My sixteenth. Yes, a Child of Autumn." She pulled her robes back on, flipped her luxuriant hair out. _

_"I'll be seeing you then, Virginia."_

_"Yes, my Lord." Saucy wink._

_He smiled at her as he sat up, languidly stretching, cat-like. Watched her departing figure, light and bouncy, full of life. One day she would be his, by his side, to rule. She would be his consort, his Dark Queen._

_One day._

__

Ginny looked up from her recollections, she was still crouching in the puddle of moonlight, clutching her precious dagger. Stifling a sob, she delved further into herself, trying to escape from her emotions trying to lose herself in cold white light, into a place where all was white and black, without confusing grey areas.

Her sixteenth birthday had passed in a blur of wild love-making, interspersed with the occasional ritual to bind them together, forever, as was needed to make him all the more powerful, to become invincible.

And now……

She waited.

Waited for her lover to call upon her, to rescue her from this world in which she no longer belonged.


End file.
